


Trusting Someone

by Trifoilum



Series: Texting Robert [4]
Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Communication, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dadsona got tested for STDs, Dadsona was a bit melodramatic here, Eventual Smut, HIV/AIDS, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Praying is so good y'all, Singing, Slice of Life, Songfic, it's basically what happened when the writer was used to yaoiland, some strong opinions about Kesha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trifoilum/pseuds/Trifoilum
Summary: Trusting anyone and anything seemed impossible at the moment. But that was another delusion. Maybe now there was no illusion about forever, no dreams of a happily ever after. Still accidents were accidents, and mistakes you could still fix no matter how long and how tiring it would be. A matter of effort and luck. That was manageable.But what I can do, and what you have the privilege of doing tomorrow morning, is to wake up and try to be a better person then you were the day before.Time to practice what you preached.





	1. Staying With Each Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been years since the last impromptu karaoke you saw from Craig.
> 
> It had also been years since you had to worry about sexually transmitted diseases.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Anxiety attack. Pretty light, personally speaking, but it was still an anxiety attack. Also this entire chapter is dedicated to talk about HIV and/or STD panic. I might miss certain details; in that case, please kindly tell me because this is a very important matter.
> 
> There are disclaimers in several smut sites that seems worthy to be repeated here; these are fantasies and fictions. Be safe, guys and girls and everyone outside the binary.

" _I hope you're somewhere praayin', prayin'_

 _I hope your soul is changin', changin'_ "

You were Craig Cahn's sole spectator; he was insistent in finding a quiet corner the moment you entered the clinic. That gesture was rooted in natural thoughtfulness and a colorful shared past, which was both an honor and a reminder how exhausting living with jovial, extroverted Craig Cahn could be. The rapid beating of your heart thanked him still. 

The jock stood solemnly with hands clasped in front of his chest. His voice was relaxed now, but the eyes boring into your jogging shoes told that in a matter of minutes he would unleash the same emotions Kesha did, loudness be damned. Thankfully the two of you were alone, accompanied only by the loving interracial couple plastered in a poster about HIV beside you. In your head, they were transfixed by Craig's performance; ignoring how your feet were shaking nonstop, how you kept biting your nails and how sweat had made your clothes stuck on your back. Try as you might, unpleasant thoughts had crept in, prickling the back of your head and making the deserted hallway felt claustrophobic.

" _I'll bring thunder, I'll bring rain, oh_

 _When I'm finished, they won't even know your name_ "

As feeble as it was, you kept focusing on Craig. He had started yelling at invisible villains on your right and left, threatening them with his strong fists. His wide shoulders were hunching. The voice turned louder and higher as it trembled, like the jock was holding back emotions that were threatening to burst. You attempts of clapping felt lifeless, pretending, fake, so you stopped. The couple on the poster still gazed lovingly at him.

" _You brought the flames and you put me through hell_

_I had to learn how to fight for myself_

_And we both know all the truth I could tell_

_I'll just say this is "I wish you farewell"_ "

Toned arms were waved up and down, fist clenching so tight the veins were bulging. The jock was no Mat; his voice was decent at best. What he lacked in voice quality he made up doubly in performance. Whether drunk or not, whether it was hammy,  aggressive, dramatic, or melodramatic, Craig Cahn never half-assed any singing.  

_"I hope you're somewhere praaaaaaaaaaaayin', praaaaaaaayin'..._

_I hope your soul is chaaaaaangin', chaaaaaaangin..._

_I hope you find your peace_

_Falling on your knees,_

_praaaaaaaaaaaaaaayin'....._ "

With arms spreading and hands opening wide, Craig entered the climax of the song, the triumphant middle finger to old demons and villains. His dramatic gestures brought you back to the small dorm, where deadlines were gods and instant ramens were angels. When everyone was talking about Ross and Rachel. Before either of you ever wondered about the future, much less marriage and children and fatherhood.

The era where the world felt wide and inviting and everything seemed possible. The era of hijinks, where sometimes your ska backed his singing and other times you were a duo. Remembering all these, you made a very weak attempt of a smile. 

It had been years since the last impromptu karaoke you saw from Craig.

It had also been years since you had to worry about sexually transmitted diseases.

Sure, things were different. The greater understanding, for one. How HIV used to be a death sentence; the grizzly images, the war stories. Then there were other STDs; gonorrhea, syphilis, chlamydia, to name a few. It was funny how they were more manageable and simultaneously taken more seriously than it had been decades ago. Not only that, supports were plenty; aside from Planned Parenthood, there were lots of places to get tested and there were even home tests these days, if one could deal with the greater risk of false positives. It was different; much better. Still, the fear remained, clawing at your head. 

Here, HIV testing took 15 minutes. The rest took a few days to develop. You did not make any appointments. That might have been a mistake.

Time moved so slowly.

" _Oh, sometimes, I pray for you at night_

_Someday, maybe you'll see the light_

_Oh, some say, in life, you're gonna get what you give_

_But some things only God can forgive_ "

Fear made way to self-reprimand. You were no longer young. It was unbelievable that testing and STIs only came into the equation  _now_. You knew what you wanted with Robert, you had more than enough time to do so. And yet. And yet. Were you so occupied in thinking about the moment of getting together that you forgot to think about what happened after that? Were you so thirsty for his body that you didn't bother to consider all the ways you could harm it?

The piercing wail before the last refrain didn't arrive. When you looked at Craig,  the jock's hands were resting on his hips, and his face had an exaggerated look of annoyance as he glared at you. The couple on the poster still gazed lovingly at him.

"Bro!" 

Shit. You quickly (and awkwardly) clapped. "Yes, dear Craig, my one and only bro in the world?"

"You're not listening."

"I do-- it's just--"

"Was it too gloomy? Maybe another Carly Rae Jepsen is better?"

He had been singing and jumping and bopping like a girl half his age about breaking up via  _goin' to the store, to the store, I'm just goin' to the store._ You did not know which is scarier; the image of Craig being that merciless or the fact that Carly Rae Jepsen was closer to both your age.

Neither could fully resist these thoughts, though, so you shook your head. "No, I like this, it's just--"

Before you could finish your words, Craig sat down and wrapped his arms carefully like you were going to crumble in ten thousand pieces. And long time ago, you did. It was part broken heart, part the increasing stress of college, part petty little things you had long forgotten now, but you did crumble in his arms. And yet, just like these, the jock selflessly took care of you, holding you close as you gathered what was left of your psyche before you seek help. Looking back, that might have been the first time you knew how powerful physical affections could be.

"It's going to be alright, bro," whispered your former roommate. Today Craig smelled of cologne instead of sweat. Minty, with hints of citrus. His words reminded you of Alex, and how it seemed like everyone getting close enough with you were bound to say this sooner or later.

"I should have tested myself before."

"Let it out, bro." Those strong arms were patting your back so gently like it was one of his daughters. He had always been a barely contained bundle of energy and joy, but he had long stopped being flighty. 

"I can't do this to Robert. He had done so much."

"We can't say anything for sure. He still needed to get tested."

He was right. And yet. "Nobody knows." The sound your gritted teeth made was sharp and painful.  Wordless thoughts took the opportunity to crowd around your head, ugly and vicious, and you flinched inside Craig's arms.

If Craig noticed anything, he didn't show it. He adjusted himself so both of you were practically cuddling each other. Your head leaned on his shoulder. It was grounding, as if the energy and joy were transferred to you.  "The people inside know. You're testing now, and you're doing it in the start of your relationship, and that sets you apart from most people. It's not something you should be ashamed of, bro. You'll live, and you'll live happy."

Robert was different. Sometimes your lover would contain so much coiled tightness that would explode if not handled with care. The other times he could be so quiet and accepting, taking your fears like a bottomless sea. Only recently did you found out about the latter. And there if was a chance--  _No_. You shook your head. Experience taught you thinking about chance was a dangerous lane.  

Everything could happen, when anxiety ruled your mind. 

Craig kept patting your head. Despite the solid muscle and the hard acrylic seats, it was comfortable. You slumped in, fully using his body as a support like you did back in college. It was so kind, so strong.

"I don't know much about Robert, but you should trust him. It's what makes a relationship, right? Trust."

Trusting anyone and anything seemed impossible at the moment. But that was another delusion. Maybe now there was no illusion about forever, no dreams of a happily ever after. Still accidents were accidents, and mistakes you could still fix no matter how long and how tiring it would be. A matter of effort and luck. That was manageable.

_But what I can do, and what you have the privilege of doing tomorrow morning, is to wake up and try to be a better person then you were the day before._

Time to practice what you preached.

Craig slightly pulled back so that he could look at you. His voice was gentle, and the radiance in his smile made you genuinely smiled for the first time today. "Let it out, bro. It's going to be all right. Breathe with me?" 

Your body lowered its resistance. "Breathe in, count to 4.” Pause. "Hold it, count to 7." Pause. "Exhale in 8." Unpleasant thoughts were exhaled into the air. "Great job, let's do it again?"

You repeated the set, again and again, melting the tension from your rigid body. As much as the thoughts still crept in the corner, you had realized one thing. Despite how it felt, the situation was far from doomed; there were plans and options that could be taken if things did get worse. 

It's going to be alright. You trusted Craig, you trusted Alex, you would trust Robert. No matter what.

You finally turned your head to look at the time, only to realize that an hour had passed since Craig's last singing. And yet, your turn hadn't come yet, and the corner hallway still looked as deserted as before. A telephone rang from far only to be abruptly cut. 

"Thanks for being here, Craig," you muttered with guilt. "You must have been very busy these days, and yet you still come."

"No way, bro. Smashley was with the girls, and we got no practice today. This is the point of having your own business, right? Setting your own schedule and all that." He pulled away and threw you a grin. "Besides, now I know a bit of how you feel."

You gave an empathetic grimace. Of course. You remembered that people cope with their anxiety differently. You froze and curled. Robert (anxiety or otherwise) used to ran away to drinks and sex. Craig overexerted himself when he was anxious. As productive as his method was, the core remained the same. And at some point, the burden would prove to be too much.

So much you did not know about your college friend; so much you had missed. Did he have any shoulder to lean on? Had he ever had any? Were you just burdening him  _okay no that was another slippery slope_.

One thing remained true; you could start being there for him and his daughters, like how he'd always been there for you. As the clock ticked and time passed, you realized that perhaps you could start from now.

You separated yourself from Craig. It was a lot sooner than it had been and an inquisitive eyebrow was arched. You replied with a mischievous grin that felt less forced than it did before. "How about we finish the song, bro? You hadn't reached the last refrain before," challenged yourself.

"Bro!" His eyes were flooded in relief, and you couldn't help but reflect the enthusiasm. "Let's do it, bro."

"Let's do it. A duet," you teased, and Craig elbowed your shoulder.

It took a lot of energy to match your college friend's spirit, but you managed. The highest note near the end made your throat shrieked in pain and your turn came before you could sing another song, but the last refrain was beautiful and powerful as both of you yelled the words together. It made you feel triumphant against the creeping thoughts.

As you entered the examination room, you hoped that Craig, just like Kesha, would get all the success alongside the peace and recovery they so deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs referenced in this chapter:
> 
> [Kesha - Praying](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-Dur3uXXCQ)   
>  [Carly Rae Jepsen - Store](https://genius.com/Carly-rae-jepsen-store-lyrics)


	2. Standing On Your Own Two Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What’s the worst that would happen then?”  
> That made you stop. Oh, your mind provided unwanted scenes like bad pop-up ads, but their amount of realism were just exactly like those things.
> 
>  
> 
> _Your lover wanted to break up? Click this for 5 tips that would prevent that!_  
>  _Robert Small hates him! A dad’s way to fuck up his love live. Click here!_  
>  _Free Rough Bareback XXX No Credit Cards Required_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short update !
> 
> ETA 13 December 2017: holy shit the sentencing. Editing some of them.

Craig’s car was a family-oriented SUV smelling primarily of artificial orange, bearing only the barest hint of sweat and baby food. Very comfortable to sleep in, and considering the Cahns' activities, Craig must have taken care of it a lot. The temperature was kind to your sweat-drenched back without any risk for clattering teeth or catching colds.

It was a decent place to commiserate.

The rapid test was done. No HIV.

The rest would come in another few days, but that alone was a welcomed revelation. One that broke the shoddy fortress of resolve you had frantically built today.

It was like the stones you were holding decided to double down its weight simultaneously. Like flashbacks sequences where every clue was plainly displayed in black and white for the viewer's comfort. _Do you really need us to show this to you? Are you really that stupid to not know where this is going by now? Sigh, have at it._

All the dalliances happening after Alex had always been done with condoms. Any chance of infection through oral sex and other means wasn’t as daunting as you feared, especially when it came to Robert. And speaking about him….

“Now, to show the result,” the remaining fraction of mind produced while you rested your head on the car window, hoping the subtle vibration there would somehow turn the fragments whole. “Wonder how I should do that.”

With his hand firmly on the steering wheel, your college friend did not miss any beat. “Dear Robert Small, my second best bro and the keeper of my heart, I just got myself tested with my ultimate best bro and guess what, I’m clean. We can get nasty and sloppy starting from now.”

“THIS IS NOT ABOUT BAREBACKING!” you groaned, punching the laughing Craig on the shoulder. It felt like punching a rock. Hell, were your fist supposed to hurt?

More flashbacks, this time a sports commentary about how stupid you were, and the sigh you let sounded more like an annoyed hiss. Oh goodness, everything was embarrassing.

Replay, fast forward, rewind. Zoom in your face.

Zoom in your stupid, annoying face. Play it in slow motion.

Despite the bubbling shame, Craig had been nothing but ecstatic, the first result when Googling happiness, like the test result was written for him. He was so happy that you couldn’t help absorbing the radiance like a dying plant. At least the most important party in this situation did not find problems with your behavior. That should make it okay...right?

Remnants of anxiety still defiantly lurked, like the annoying echo of an alarm you swore you could hear ringing in the back of your mind.

Maybe that hiss was perfectly intentional.

Craig’s knowing grin bore the freedom of someone half his age. “Does barebacking never cross your mind at all, bro? Neeeever at all?” Upon scrutiny, his eyes bore mischievousness of someone double his age.

In the corner of your eyes, rows of stores were decked in their best Halloween decoration; so many pumpkins and bats and pumpkin spices. A solitary finger was raised in a futile attempt of defense. “…Look, the rest of my result wasn’t out yet, and he also got to be tested first.”

“Ask him, then,” said Craig.

“I’m a bit afraid,” you sighed. “I don’t want to accuse him of anything.”

“Say it’s about barebacking, bro."

“No, seriously, this is not about that.” The air inside was pleasantly cool, and you let a yawn.

“Tsk, fine.”

With Craig silent and the radio turned off, it only took your eyes closing to make the low rumble of the car the sole stimuli. You weren’t sure total silence would do good either, so this was perfect.

Maybe write a message? Something like _Robert, I’m sorry to bother you and I’m sorry for having to write this message to you, but I just got myself tested for STD and HIV and--_ Bad idea. It implied carefulness, like you have something to hide. How about _Robert, buddy, guess what? I just got tested and I’m HIV negative, woo!_ Even worse. Robert was no fool. He would have sensed the change in your behaviors; he could even figure out the demon’s name. Pretending you were unharmed and unbothered would practically be lying. No, anything but that.

Thinking about that, there’s the more important question. If Robert sensed your anxiety, would it wake his own? Had it?

Another slippery slope. _Breathe_.

That seemed to piqued Craig's notice, because he broke your reverie. “Bro?”

“Hmm?”  
  
“Penny for your thoughts? As far as you are comfortable telling?” asked Craig plainly.

“Hmm.” You wondered. “I have been pointedly ignoring his past. It was never my business to know and I would rather use condoms forever than make a problem out of it.” He had made enough problems out of his past already.

Craig shrugged. “What do you think would happen if you asked?”

“I don’t know.” And that was the problem; you couldn’t guess. All you wanted now was just to curl inside your bed, undisturbed, but that seemed like it would only hurt Robert more. _Fuck you and your anxiety, I’m tired_  was not a good message to send. Not when the alternative were supposed to be easy.

The sun had peaked and started its slow descent. The orange rays bathed Craig like a heavenly emissary. “What’s the worst that would happen then?”

That made you stop. Oh, your mind provided unwanted scenes like bad pop-up ads, but their amount of realism were just exactly like those things.

_Your lover wanted to break up? Click this for 5 tips that would prevent that!_

_Robert Small hates him! A dad’s way to fuck up his love live. Click here!_

_Free Rough Bareback XXX No Credit Cards Required_

“I don’t…know,” said yourself.

Craig nodded. Nothing was said for the moment. Then he spoke again. “Do you think I’m a bad father, bro?”

“No.” That one came out much quicker. Craig’s face was pleasant when observed, and his hands were turning the steering wheel calmly. Yet the silence was heavy.

Craig's speech came with a chuckle that sounded far from joy. “Really? Because my mind’s saying otherwise. I could always imagine it so clear, bro. Just like a movie.”

“Craig.”

Maybe it was priming, but there seemed to be melancholy behind his jovial grin. “The most vivid scene involves a car chase and lots of explosions. River’s crying, Briar’s screaming and Hazel’s…Hazel’s quiet, no doubt planning with her brilliant mind. I hope that’s what happened.” His body fully tensed, as if restraining himself from snapping the steering wheel. “Gotta say it's a pretty awesome movie, bro.” He turned to you and there was a knowing glint in his eyes. “See where I’m going?”

 _Anxiety made the most implausible scenario plausible._ Or, in a cooler form; _fear is a mind-killer._

The silent nod you gave was enough for the jock, and his grip relaxed with a patient breath, returning his focus back to the road ahead. “I don’t know Robert much, but I know him longer. What he’s doing is the kind of stuff romantic dramas are made out of, bro.”

You snickered. “You know nothing, Craig Cahn.” _Hot Fuzz_ was _not_ a romantic drama, as much as Craig insisted it was.

“ _Fiiiiiine_ ,” drawled Craig in a tone that reminded you of the younger him. “But my point stands.”

The headrest was fluffy as you leaned against it. “What is your point?”

“You’re trying, he’s trying. He’ll understand where you’re coming from.”

 _Trust him_ , the saner part of you supported your college friend. _If you couldn’t trust yourself now, then trust the man who had given his heart to you. Y_ _ou have been through this far. Not only was this just mere practice compared to everything; that also earned you the right to know—or at least to ask him about his health. Both of you were fucking adults, for God’s sake._

And you knew you wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t trusted you.

That was enough, then; you had the chance to be childish. Time to stop the self-loathing and self-pitying and other things beginning with self, because this was no longer about you. 

It wouldn’t be easy; everything still felt exhausting. But for now, as you drifted to sweet oblivion, with Craig silently driving his car back to the cul-de-sac, to home, to _Robert_ , your mind didn’t feel as fractured as before.

This was also part of trust—being the kind of someone the other party could trust in the first place.

_It’s going to be alright._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all hail the [Litany Against Fear.](http://dune.wikia.com/wiki/Litany_Against_Fear)
> 
> ..I don't know how to write good clickbait headline...
> 
> Also, poor Craig. I noticed how him and Smashley weren't in his imagination and that kind of...tells something. LEAVING THAT ALONE NOW
> 
> Unbeta'ed, as usual. Again; comments and critiques would be really appreciated!


	3. Secure Enough To Share Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A city built above a mass graveyard it may be, but your psyche was still a city and Alex's memories weren't just graves of harsh words and raised voices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW : Intrusive thoughts, minor anxiety attack and hopelessness, talks about sexual behavior
> 
> ETA 13 December : editing a lot of bad phrasing. So embarrassed.

You never truly forgot your firsts, and so was your First Big Fight with Alex. Long before marriage, it was a perfect storm of bad words and worse timing; starting with  _Oh my God, this was really boring_ and _Do we really have to do this_ before finally blooming into  _Dammit, Alex, can you try being less selfish just once._

Harsh, in retrospect; only back then you were obsessed about making your point that Alex's feelings was completely forgotten. And Alex had always been the living example of the idiom  _corner a dog in a dead-end street and it will turn and bite._

Needless to say, the resulting fight was glorious. The kind of fight that unearthed the worst of people, exploited the heaviest of issues, and criticized the pettiest of grudges to show just how bad the other person was. Years afterwards you still found yourself reminiscing, commenting on the story of your life like your own movie review. Sometimes the review was snarky but most of the times it was just a thoughtful reflection and why you were thinking about this again except--

 

_Knock knock._

 

"What?" The next second you realized the car was empty, parked outside the owner's home, still running in that Goldilocks zone where everything (the air, the pillow, the engine, the scent of artificial orange,  _everything_ ) was just right for sleeping. The sky was getting dark, and the merciless digital clock clarified that over an hour had passed. Craig had left his car running for this long, and the realization struck a discordant chord you had fought valiantly to suppress today; the last but not least of your ugly thoughts and the reason for that memory to resurface.

Guilt.

...Of course. That was the underlying notion. Having a conscience was a good thing and so was self introspection and learning from your mistake, but guilt always distorted them into hopelessness, sprinkling fear and worry to make everything  _just right_  as in  _catastrophic, we're doomed, let's just curl right here_. That you were doing something wrong to begin with, and--

 

_Knock knock knock._

 

…Of course your thoughts were cut short. You grunted and turned to the window and  _of course_  it was Robert. In just a day and a few hours, you had missed not keeping secrets from him. You missed him period. Guilt struck again, noticing how his eyes were studying you now. Guilt had been the one warning you in the car that Robert was no fool. And guilt was the reason why you hid this matter from Robert to begin with. 

_We're doomed, let's just curl right here. Why try?_

Well, you try because it is worth trying. Alex was worth trying.  _Surviving_  Alex was worth trying, if only for the sake of watching Amanda's bright smile return. And Robert was worth trying. So you rolled the window down and opened yourself up to both Robert's penetrating gaze and the coldness of autumn.

For a moment it seemed he would frown; the ugly thoughts were sure you gave him every reason to. None expected the hunter to give a sweet little smile; amused, adoring, sneaking past the guilt to pierce deep inside your gut with its sincerity. His eyes twinkled in childlike joy, the  _treat_  in trick or treat. _The best way out is always through_ , whispered your subconscious, probably because Robert Small and Robert Frost sounded pretty close, and without thinking you pulled him close and kissed him. Maybe he could share a bit of that joy. 

Robert's hand slipped through the window to card through your hair, sorting the messy locks and simultaneously holding the back of your head as he took in your lips. “Hi,” he rasped gravelly, evoking broken glasses rather than coarse rocks; the voice he only used in private. His hand blocked your cheek against the biting wind. They were overwhelming. 

“Hi,” you whispered back, letting his palm, rough yet beloved all the same, shield you against the wind.

Nuzzling your cheeks, his smile grew into a sexy grin, carefully brushing his lips all over your skin. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Cart’s turning to a pumpkin now.”

Oh, how ecstatic were the sounds inside your heart as he kissed you. Once, twice, thrice, you were smiling into your kisses and you were sure Robert was too and—

 

“ _Ahem_.”

  

Craig Cahn was standing behind Robert with reddening cheeks that betrayed everything despite his pointed observation of Mat Sella’s Halloween decoration house. “You’re mixing your fairytales there, bro,” commented the jock lightly as he strolled back to the driver’s seat.

“The hell do you know about fairytales, Cahn,” barked Robert as he backed away,  _now_  using his proper voice, lips quickly curled downwards into a good-natured frown despite how crotchety it looked. At least Robert tolerated the presence of the other party. “And I’m not your bro.”

“Please,” dismissed Craig, already in a different set of clothes, as he entered the car. "Your bro’s bro is a bro for your bro’s other bros, so you’re also my bro, bro,” retorted Craig, and you must admit Robert's exasperated face was amusing.

The jock turned to face you. “Sorry, bro. I’d let you sleep longer but I gotta pick up the girls,” apologized the jock as he rolled the window behind you up, completely blocking his voice from Robert. “And before you asked, he didn't ask, I didn't tell.”

Your smile reflected the bubbling gratefulness. It was pretty nice of him to give you the opportunity to explain yourself;it was pretty nice of Robert to not push him. Neither of them had to.

Craig returned the smile with a weighty one that made you wonder if this was Craig’s Dad face. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked.

Maybe. Maybe not. It was a heavy question; how could you tell you would be alright? The younger you would feel worthless and burdened at this point. Now everything only managed to make you...say, a quarter human, at most. So lessons learned, a bit.

You knew what you wanted and you knew where you were. The rest was a matter of effort and luck. That was manageable.

As an answer, you raised your fist, letting your college friend judge your answer on their own merit. 

The grin returned, as bright as the sunshine, and he gave a gentle fistbump. “That’s my bro.”

The assessment was encouraging. “Thanks, bro. Say hi for Smashley?”

"You bet.” Craig peeked behind you. “Now you deal with your boyfriend before he kills us both."

"What?"

 

_KNOCK._

 

As if proving Craig's point, the knocking was a bit more impatient this time.

The jock let an amused sigh if there ever was one, and rolled the window down again. Robert was leaning into the car window, with an arched back and one hand grabbing onto the car roof. The body said  _fancy a good night, stranger_ , the face said get  _outta my lawn, stranger_ , and you just had to laugh.

"Well hello there, handsome, why the frown?" teased yourself while leaning to poke his nose. _Boop, Daddi-o,_ Amanda would say.

That made him smirk. “you goin' t' pay or what? ah don't wanna wait all day ifin' ya're not lookin' for a daisy night, sweetie,” drawled the older man like a bad impersonation of a cowboy. Who's also a hustler. Or a cowboy-themed hustler.

"Oooookay. I'd love to watch the banter, but if you're not coming with me, I gotta go...?" interrupted Craig, raising his tone into a questioning one at the end. "Maybe you two want to tag along?"

"Right, right." You unplugged your seatbelt and exited the car as Robert stepped aside. IT'S COLD. "Again, thanks, Craig."

“Bro, If you need any help to kick your boyfriend’s ass, call me. Maybe together we’ll get an actual chance of winning," teased the jock.

“Bring the twins,” you answered while shivering, and Craig drove to his family, leaving you with one part of yours.

Before you could even think, Robert unceremoniously dumped his leather jacket around your shoulder, followed immediately by his arms.

You groaned. He was so strong, so solid, so warm.

Especially because the sky had stopped being a beautiful canvas of yellow, orange, and purple, leaving a gloomy darkness lit by solitary lamps. Here, too, decorations for Halloween had been filling most of the houses— it was a close contest between Brian and Joseph, so far. Handcarved pumpkins adorned the youth pastor’s house; not only scary faces, but also flames and bats and cats and amazingly, a carousel. Brian made his house an arachnophobe’s worst nightmare and attached dozens on giant spiders all over his house. Damien would turn the tide pretty soon.

Exhaustion drowned any ideas to decorate your house; maybe that was bad. The problem was, sometimes it was easy for one to be so obsessed in one’s own life, they ended up ignoring what other people were dealing with in their life. And ignoring was what you essentially did to Robert.

 

"Hey."

 

Robert nuzzled the spot between your neck and shoulders, breaking your intrusive thoughts again. Is it possible if all the interruptions were intentional? If there was anyone here who would know how persistent intrusive thoughts could be, it was him.

Rustling leaves and the whistling wind filled the silence. "How was your day?" you asked tentatively.

But Robert Small was a hunter, and a hunter knew when to exploit an opening. "Met Mary and hunted around with Betsy. How was  _your_  day?"

Immediately your reaction was to become so goddamned rigid. "I, uh--" you stumbled, the vision of ripping the smile off from his face striking again.

He gave no signs of noticing it, keeping his eyes patiently gazing on you. "Just tell me if you still need time. At least let me know; are you alright?" 

So much for hiding. "I....will be," you finally settled on. "But don't go." It was Robert's turn to went tense, the freeze in the fight/flight/freeze, reading very well the implicit  _we need to talk_. You pulled the result from your pants, a white envelope that was fold in two and severely wrinkled by now, and gave it to him. Your trembling fingers curled on his leather jacket for dear life as he opened the envelope. Skimming it.

And folded the result in a quick swift movement.

Your breath stopped. "Sorry, uh. I got tested. HIV negative. And-- uh.”

A blank space lodged itself in your throat; begging to be released, yet unable to know how. Images-- the images were clear; the steps to reach those were not. Words-- it involved words. Robert was quiet, gazing into your eyes with a steely patience you failed to exhibit. You let him see you,  _judge you._

"Sorry for--"  _Lying? Hiding? Deceiving?_  God, you had no idea. Questions of order and phrasing of words made your neck ache, each passing seconds stinging all over your head, and your breathing broke into shallow, jagged gasps.

A looped cassette. A glitched video. A film roll mistakenly arranged to show the same frame again and again and again. No no no.

The buffering icon. Apple’s Pinwheel of Death, and  _stop finding metaphors and start finding words_.

" _I have to--_ ” you paused, not even knowing what noun did you have to verb. 

Seconds still passed like eternity. Yellow and orange dominated the cul-de-sac despite every effort Mat and Carmensita took to pile the dried, fallen leaves. It felt futile.  _We're doomed, let's just curl right here,_ blurted another part of you.  _The leaves will be everywhere, there would be no Amanda this Halloween, and there would be no Robert too if you_ **SHUT UP STOP IT SHUT IT STOP UP.**  What the hell. Was the last one even proper English?

“Buddy.” Robert, whose face you couldn't see, not now, was massaging your head now; it felt good. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me now. I'll listen. I want to listen. Just take your time.”

All the words you couldn’t speak came out in a silent, frustrated, halfly relieved groan. Your brain felt secure, so you repeated Craig's instructions in hope that time moved faster. Breathe in, count to 4. Hold it, count to 7, then exhale in 8. With each intake you inhaled Robert’s scent together with the cold air. He hadn't moved. You waited. Waiting if he let go. Chastising yourself like letting go would be the end of everything.

Robert didn’t let go. “Tell me how to help.” he asked patiently, a hunter's kind of patience, a prelude to action instead of the ending. 

The reply coming off from you was small and weak. “Don’t leave me when I’m done talking.”

Nuzzling softly into your ears, his voice bore the slightest tinge of resolve. “No matter what you’re saying, I love you so fucking much. I won’t.” whispered Robert before he let go and held your hand.

 _If you couldn’t trust yourself now, then trust the man who had given his heart to you,_ _echoed your memory._

 

=======

 

Robert’s bedroom was not as bad as the first time you saw it, yes, and there were zero traces of alcohol. Yet cigarette butts and ashes and unwashed clothes were scattered on the floor, and from the way Robert silently cleaned all of them while you were taking a hot shower, it was safe to assume that your predicament yesterday and today bothered him, and he chose to demand no explanations and asked zero questions.

The mind paid a visit down the memory lane as streams of hot water soothed your aching muscle. You applied more shampoo than usual, letting the scent jolt your memories, the lessons and mistakes you spent years learning and experiences shaping you as a person and as a partner. A city built above a mass graveyard it may be, but your psyche was still a city and Alex's memories weren't just graves of harsh words and raised voices.

 _How did all those fights end in the past_ , asked the anti-dandruff shampoo. _What were your lessons_ , asked the vanilla and mint bodywash you brought from home. _How could it apply here_ , asked Robert’s menthol facial cleanser as you scrubbed today’s grime from your face.

It felt nice to be prepped, even if for a bit.

Entering Robert's bedroom again, you saw Betsy and Robert lying on the bed, both looking comfortable in the presently neat room. His hands gently patted an empty space and you ungracefully flumped beside him, feeling refreshed, cozy, and warm.

Two envelopes were laid on his torso. One was yours, looking so wrinkled and crumpled against the other. Robert’s face was leaking guilt and whatever lethargy you had after shower dissipated in a flash.

“For you,” he murmured before turning to gaze at the ceiling.

It was a report—a result. Same test, different place. "When did you--"

The date. It was a few weeks ago. Before you and him crossed the line from friendship into boyfriends.

 

He was clean.

 

“I did say I was thinking about the future,” murmured Robert as he took your hand in his. "And, just saying, you can be poz and filled with pus and I don't give any single damn.”

“ _Robert_.”

“I'm serious.” His tone was grim. “As long as you're here, in my arms, I don't care about anything else."

You turned to face him. "…It’s your health."

"I don't care. I didn't. That's the point." He also turned to face you. "I wasn’t careful in the past. I wasn’t even caring about being careful. Sometimes I kept going when there ain't no condoms around. Sometimes I don't even give a fuck if there aren't. Sometimes I wanted it raw, and I’d be lying to say that I’ve never thought of -insisting-." He let a pained laugh. "That isn't really different from actually doing it raw, isn't it?”

You waited.

"....When I say I do not deserve you, this kind of thing was what I am talking about. I use people and I take what I wanted before leaving them,” he continued, dull eyes reminding you of moments when he doubted his future. When he doubted you.

_Why do you always see me at my worst?_

Usually there would be choices. Three things you could say in response, with differing tone and politeness between them. Not now. It was so clear.

“Here is a question, Robert,” you smiled gently. “If it was me in your position, would you leave me?”

He let out a very severe frown and his hands gripped tighter, as if the question alone had offended every single bit of him.

"Exactly.” You leaned forward until your foreheads touched. “The only thing connecting the you of that time to the you of now is your sexual health, which, not only did you always use condom with me, you got tested yourself, and is proven clean. It’s…different than me.”

His frown remained while your smile died. “Why?”

“My neglect happened when we’re together. I’m— putting you at risk. That was..thoughtless. That was cruel.”

“Then if I’m in your position, would you leave me?” asked Robert, voice hoarse.

“No.” And the truth revealed itself. “No. But if that’s the case I do wish you could have told me so we can deal with it together.”

“So why didn’t you?” he rasped, and there was the problem, laid bare so simply, sneaking past the guilt to pierce deep inside your gut with its sincerity. “…It hurts.”

With a whine, Betsy fumbled closer and nuzzled her owner’s head with her nose. There was no urgency, like she had known full well this would happen. When there was no response, the dog just laid her head close to Robert’s back, listening to his heartbeat.

The muscles of your face knew they fucked up and moved accordingly. “I’m sorry. It was not your fault. I’m just beating myself over how I should have been more careful and thoughtful for you.”

“Fuck careful and fuck being thoughtful, just don’t shut me out,  _please_ ," hissed Robert. Betsy whined again as she nudged Robert’s back; she sounded sad.

The words hung heavy in the air. His face reminded you of yourself, whenever Alex’s memory became too much, too tight.  You kissed his fingers, hoping forgiveness would bloom that way. It wouldn’t.

“I won’t. I might need time, and I might need space, but I won’t,” you asserted, forcing what was left of your mind to listen, to understand, to empathize. “God, Robert, I’m so, so sorry.”

He abruptly opened his eyes and the desperation struck with the force of a hammer. "Are we... alright now?” rasped the older man, insecure, with the voice of broken glasses.

 

You nodded, because that was the only thing you could, you wanted, you  _needed_  to say. 

 

There was tension in his entire body. Doubt and fear, in his eyes. Tilting his head, Robert’s trembling lips touched your forehead with a force of a whisper. It pressed down to your nose, and finally hovering just above your lips, hesitatingly asking for permission before stumbling in an awkward, teeth-would-be-cackling kiss.

Your fingers reached out to slide around his temple, brushing over his stubble as you pressed into the kiss, opening your mouth, focusing all senses on the preciousness of his breath and the softness of his movement running against the roughness of his lips and stubble. Both of you moved slow and languid, more of a conversation than an argument, and by God you wanted to hold on as long as possible. Images—the images were clear and this time wordless and maybe Robert also couldn’t describe them ergo this was his way to tell you. 

When breathing finally got too hard, his hand reached behind and placed your aching head into his shoulder, bringing you to his scent, masculine and earthy and pleasantly sweet. You had hoped for things to be romantic; something like _his touch fixed me, filled the Alex-shaped hole inside my soul, saved me,_ but nope. Still a quarter human at best; still fending the unkind thoughts from the holes that had always been there for years. Still have to pick up the pieces on your own. Still have to wake up and try to be a better person tomorrow.

The creeping guilt had attempted to drain all thoughts from your head until what was left is a crater made out of your mistakes. It had to be admitted; they succeeded on some.

What he did was to give you space. Space to learn from your lesson and turn your conscience back into an ally. To let yourself be small for a while (hey, dad jokes). That was more than enough, and _the best way out is always through_.

That was how you survived. That was how that First Big Fight ended. And the next fights too.

You pulled Robert closer into a tight embrace, pressing your face into the tense neck, feeling his tension melting as you brushed your hand over Betsy. She whined, and this time it didn’t sound so sad. “..Promise you’ll tell me when I screw up?” mumbled yourself into bare skin.

“Scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours, babe,” murmured the hunter. You reached your hands and did literally just that, making him chuckle. “And please, talk to me about your problems. Even if it’s my fault.”

“Yeah, I will," said yourself, feeling more certain than usual.

 

His chest muffled your laugh. There was no reply but you could hear his heartbeat slowly calming down.

 

Another few minutes passed before Robert broke the silence. “Hey,” called Robert, and when you looked at him, the smile leaking from his face was all wrinkles and tenderness, full of relief, and you couldn't help returning it with one of your own.  "You haven’t told me about your day.” 

You smiled, a wordless consent.

“Hold on,” Robert shifted his body slightly and picked Betsy to carefully place her in the middle of the bed, between you and the space he immediately occupied. “Tell her your day if it’s too much.”

You snuggled closer until you were lying on his chest, and Betsy was sitting on Robert’s lap. She was looking at you with her big silly eyes, so full with innocence it hurt.

“Therapy dogs? That might help. Are you really okay with that?”

“As long as she’s okay with it, buddy. And don’t you dare sleeping. You drool,” joked Robert, his arms immediately locked your body on top of his. It was surprising, how comfortable your burdened head felt as it found solace against his chest. Whereas Craig’s support was to keeping you from breaking, Robert’s embrace seemed to say  _it’s okay to break, it’s okay to crumble. I’m here._

So you started speaking, letting the entire affair trickled slowly with a decent amount of fumbling and thoughtful pauses. Robert listened as you started from the beginning, to today. Carefully, you explained the anxiety attack in the clinic, the testing. How Craig calmed you down including the karaoke.

(The only thing you skipped was the barebacking. That would come much later in its separate talk.)

 

You stopped worrying. Worrying would just deny both of you proper credit for getting this far. 

 

“Can I come with you for the result?” His voice had started to lose its strength, and when you looked up he was smiling with half-lidded eyes. You nodded and hugged him tighter. His breathing turned calm and shallow and in a matter of minutes you heard loud snoring.

Robert wouldn’t wake up until the morning. Meanwhile, food. You slowly untangled yourself and got up, beckoning a finger to Betsy who immediately jumped off the bed. She silently followed you as you grabbed your phone to message Craig. Three fist emojis.

His words echoed in your mind.

_You should trust him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay the angst part is done~ I think I will write smut as a closure...barebacking. :| (ETA: I think it'll be a separate work just to make things less...grim)
> 
> Writing intrusive thoughts are fun and painful at the same time. Especially because it was pretty different from my own.
> 
> Again, unbeta-ed. Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed as usual <3

**Author's Note:**

> ...this is basically what happened when I read too much BL and smut and forgot about the realities of safer sex until I wrote A Quiet Morning. 
> 
> I could gloss it over, or I could write it in the story. I chose the latter.


End file.
